


Just a Call Away

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Breast Fucking, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Double Penetration, Hand Jobs, Inexperienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Service Top, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex Toys, Sexual Frustration, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Crowley has gotten an emergency call from Beelzebub, even though he's supposed to be retired. When he gives in and agrees, it means he'll be off for a week. Aziraphale isn't too thrilled about the idea, but Crowley makes it up to him by purchasing Aziraphale his first mobile phone. With it, he's about to learn all about the wonders of long-distance sex.-or-Crowley and Aziraphale have phone sex, in which Aziraphale realizes he's not very good at getting off by himself.





	Just a Call Away

**Author's Note:**

> Aw yeah another smut fic from yours truly. I started this while i was horribly depressed and finished it today. Yay me. I call this progress. Anyway, good fun experiment here. I've never written phone sex, so i hope it's alright.
> 
> Thanks to Tickety-Boo for beta'ing for me!
> 
> If anyone is interested, I've got a new server, you can find [here!](https://discord.gg/6UgMsjH) It's top Crowley content, and we're still trying to grow!

Crowley had gotten the call on Thursday, promptly at six fifty-one in the evening. He remembered this in all the worst ways, because he was meant to be getting to the bookshop for something of a  _ date _ . They did that now, Crowley and Aziraphale. They went on dates, they stayed at the flat, and they did  _ not _ take calls from Heaven or Hell, respectfully. This wasn’t so much a call as it was an irksome little thing grating at the back of Crowley’s skull when he’d deigned to forget how well demons could travel through the electric. Just one song, he’d said. He’d listen to one song and be on his way, but it wasn’t some pretty flutter of keys he heard from his phone, it was the Prince of Hell herself—Beelzebub.

Somewhere in the grit of her teeth had been a  _ request _ , that she would not be so put out if Crowley denied, but she wouldn’t be doing her duty if she didn’t at least ask. Some demonic little emergency, something or other; Crowley had hardly been listening past the point where he was sure Prince Beelzebub was begging him. Just a little temptation, nothing major. Paperwork was quite and well in the way of new demons making Earth their home in lieu of Crowley retiring, as he was calling it. Hell called it going native, but Crowley really did prefer saying it was a date at that Japanese place Aziraphale loved so much. Excuses, though, and Beelzebub really was begging. She just wouldn’t admit that to herself or to Crowley, and that was just fine. Crowley could hear it in her voice, and rather thought that Lucifer Himself had put her up to this. Something  _ important _ , if Crowley had been listening. And he wasn’t.

He agreed, though, and she nearly thanked him. It was more of a gruff, under-breath sort of noise that sounded agreeable, than anything. Crowley called it a thanks and hung up on her. That left the plan. Beelzebub had said it would take something close to a week to get done, and he’d receive more details when he got started. As soon as possible, she’d stressed. As soon as possible, get this done. It was urgent, lest Lucifer decide that He needed another trip to Earth, Himself. In pained creases, Crowley remembered what it had felt like when Lucifer arrived the first time. He’d rather that not happen twice; he’d be gone by Saturday, leave for a week, and return. Surely, the sushi would wait for him. It left the ringing of a phone to answer.

“Thank you for calling—”

“It’s me, angel,” Crowley said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We really need to get you a different phone.”

“Why, Crowley,” he could hear the way Aziraphale smiled on the other side. “Aren’t you meant to be stopping by,” a pause, “five minutes ago? What happened?”

“Look, I got a call. Not a call, but, well, you know what I mean. Demon business.”

Aziraphale frowned, for that. “I thought we’d done away with them. What are they bothering you with now?”

“Some emergency thing, I don’t know. It doesn’t change anything; they’re just hoping I’m agreeable. It’s not often you hear Beelzebub beg; you know.”

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale sniffed. “Well, I suppose that puts a damper on tonight, then? How long will you be gone?”

“A week.”

Silence. For a long, heavy moment, Crowley just listened to the breath between them in the receiver of the phone and waited. It was a stressful thing when Aziraphale didn’t respond immediately; it either meant that he was so deep in thought that he’d rather forgotten to say anything at all, or it meant that he was preparing to shout. Something in between, perhaps, with the way he suddenly sucked in a breath of air like it  _ mattered.  _ And it didn’t. Matter. The breath.

“Would you still come pick me up, then?” Aziraphale replied.

“Sure. Be there in ten,” Crowley said, then hung up before Aziraphale could get another word in. He knew he was about to hear something, and that was something that could wait until they were trapped in a car together. If only because that was the only way that Crowley would stay and listen to something he rather did not want to hear. If he had thought a bit longer on about Beelzebub’s suggestion, he might have decided it was a poor idea to agree to it. One agreement meant they could get it in their heads that Crowley would make a second agreement, or a third. Next thing he’d know, he’d be working for Hell again. All he had to do was make sure that didn’t happen; it was fine. As long as Satan didn’t rise from the dirt. Hell couldn’t have that many Satan-level emergencies that Crowley needed to worry about. He wouldn’t worry.

He stopped by the shop, in the Bentley, nine minutes later. After a minute, Aziraphale was stepping out and locking the doors. Thirty seconds, he was sitting in the passenger seat of the Bentley with his bag curled up in his arms, in his lap; he hadn’t looked at Crowley once. Not said a thing, either. This was supposed to be their reuniting moment after a long day apart, to be celebrated by stopping for sushi and sake. They would go back to the flat, drink some more, and inevitably end up tangled in each other’s limbs on the sofa in the lounge. Sober, preferably, for the last part. Crowley  _ liked _ when they were sober for that. That wasn’t happening, though, and neither was a talk.

Music didn’t really fix the stiffness either, in which the Bentley had decided playing Queen at that moment was an opportune and good thing to do. They listened idly to  _ Bicycle _ on the way to the flat, though it seemed to echo after them even after the Bentley had been parked—legally—and silenced. If Crowley knew what the Bentley had been trying to say with that particular overture, he would’ve done something about it. All he could really do was open the doors for Aziraphale and saunter on after him, in his way, until they reached the door. Crowley unlocked it, opened it, locked it again. Only then did he hear the large breath Aziraphale had been holding since, presumably, they’d hung up.

“A week,” Aziraphale said. “You’re to leave me for a week.”

Crowley made some sort of noncommittal noise about it and walked on into the study. “More or less. I don’t have the details, but they said I’d get them when I got on my way. I’m not planning to leave until Saturday.”

“Oh, so we could have gone to dinner?” Aziraphale didn’t look as hopeful as he sounded, when he followed after. He set his bag on the desk and stood idly beside it, fingers wrung together.

“We could have, I suppose. Figured you’d be mad. Best to talk about it private than over sushi, I thought.” Showed Crowley what good thinking was, it did.

“No. No, you’re right. We could order in, though? There’s another place that does delivery, and if we order quickly—”

“The usual?” Crowley already had his phone out. He was leaning against the desk, half perched with his knee drawn up and on the armrest of his throne. Aziraphale, beside him, smiled a sort of soft thing that said he was ever glad for Crowley’s attentive behavior. Aziraphale eventually nodded.

They wasted time for idle chatter while they waited for dinner to arrive. Crowley had turned on the television at some point, to watch the news, and Aziraphale had settled himself at the desk to unpack his bag and continue some work for the night. It wasn’t always so easy to work with how Crowley liked to sit  _ on _ the desk, but Aziraphale made allowances for it every now and again. It would have been just as easy to pull over the second, smaller throne from across the room. Crowley didn’t like to sit in that one, though, he always said. He’d sit on the desk while he afforded the time that Aziraphale could use it and watch the news. Fine by both of them, and the chatter continued in a sort of slow, half stilted manner where there could be a full minute before one realized they hadn’t replied.

When the doorbell went off, Crowley managed that while Aziraphale moved into the kitchen. He poured wine, a lovely evening tradition that would certainly ease the conversation and set it out with plates on the sizable island Crowley had. He had quartz counter tops, a sleek and speckled sort of black that reminded Aziraphale of a nighttime sky. While it was particularly lovely, Crowley had lost his phone on the counter enough times that they had decided it was best not to speak about. If Aziraphale cared much to know how to shop for things like phones, he might have thought to get Crowley a colored case, even if Crowley insisted that using a phone without a case was much more demon-like. Testing fate, or something; Aziraphale thought it was rather silly of him.

They had never truly discussed a  _ colored _ phone, though, and Aziraphale was mulling over the idea of Crowley with a rose gold phone in his hand when Crowley marched through the door with the food. Wonderfully, perfectly present and on time. Serving dinner was always something of a practiced dance. It wasn’t to say that Crowley’s kitchen was cramped, it was just that it had been designed for one, not two. Enough time, and they’d become practiced professionals at the thing, and eventually came to sit on opposite sides of the island with full plates, full glasses, and a stuttered silence.

“It’s just,” Aziraphale started speaking without preamble, one piece of sushi down and a gulp of wine, “a week is a rather long time, you know.”

“I know, but it’s just this once. I don’t plan on agreeing to any more  _ favors _ . Unless, of course,” Crowley stopped to bite an egg roll, “there’s some big threat behind it. I’m not too keen on seeing any of them,” he pointed down, “come up here. You know?”

“I understand, I do. It’s just. Well, that’s a  _ week _ , Crowley. And…” Aziraphale trailed off, busying himself with another piece of sushi. Two pieces, then, and he still hadn’t said anything.

“And?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. The sunglasses were a thing reserved for the outdoors, now. While Aziraphale appreciated it more than he could voice, the way Crowley would stare at him when he  _ knew _ that Aziraphale was hiding something was sometimes, often, quite too much for him to handle. He felt a bit sweaty for it, too. Rather unkempt.

“And, well. A week!”

“As you’ve said.” Crowley shifted then to set his phone down, to set the egg roll down, and position himself to be fulling facing Aziraphale. “What do you mean by it?”

“We haven’t much been apart since, well. You know. Armageddon.”

Crowley blinked at him, picking up the pieces and attempting sorely to fit them together into something that made even a modicum of sense.

“You were the one who accused me of it! I don’t know why you’re making this so difficult, Crowley, really.”

“Me? Making what difficult exactly? I’m still trying to figure out—” wait. Crowley blinked, then, and leaned forward onto his fist. He watched Aziraphale with as close an eye as he could manage to see the blush work its way up his cheeks, all the way to his ears. Crowley might have laughed if it wasn’t the most endearing thing he had ever seen. At least, since he found out in 2011 that the entire Bastille shtick had happened because Aziraphale  _ missed _ him, the bugger.

“You’re going to miss me,” Crowley said, but that was slightly to the left of the point. Which he was getting to. “Oh, angel, you’re devious, truly.” Had the barstools had backs, Crowley would have leaned back with his arm thrown behind it to look rather smug of himself. Instead, he just leaned on two hands instead of one.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said even as Aziraphale couldn’t meet Crowley’s gaze.

“You’re going to miss the  _ sex _ ,” Crowley hissed at him, grinning something fierce with fangs and tongue.

“Crowley! Why, I’ve never—” but Aziraphale’s lips clamped shut when he saw Crowley, the way that he stared at him like Aziraphale would be his next meal. “You’re… not wrong,” Aziraphale conceded.

“Just wank off if you’ll miss me so much. It’s just a week.” He went back to the eating part of dinner.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale squirmed in his seat. “This isn’t very proper dinner conversation.”

“You started it.”

“Yes, well, I’m finishing it.”

“No, you aren’t,” and Crowley laughed to himself. Across the island, Aziraphale had gone positively  _ red _ at the insinuation, and he did know the insinuation. They both knew it rather  _ well _ , though it was only a product of Aziraphale’s complete inexperience with everything below the belt. Crowley hadn’t ever minded; he thought it was rather endearing, and they certainly had centuries to try out everything. Somewhere in one of those centuries, he was quite sure Aziraphale would learn better how to masturbate.

“If you really find this so  _ amusing _ , then—”

“No, no. I’m sorry. It’s not funny, you’re right,” Crowley straightened up, elbows on the counter, and had a proper grin this time. A kind one. “Here’s an idea, then. How about we get you a phone?”

“How is that going to help me?” Aziraphale frowned.

“Angel, you can do a lot of things with a phone, including  _ talk _ .”

Aziraphale stared at him after the long beat of silence it had taken him to understand. Crowley didn’t mean just chat, like they did sometimes when Aziraphale was bored at the shop, but Crowley hadn’t the time to stop in for a visit. No, this was  _ talking _ , like the way Crowley did in bed with Aziraphale’s hands pinned above his head. This was all the little dirty things Crowley would whisper into Aziraphale’s ears while he  _ fucked _ him. That kind of talking.  _ That _ kind of talking.

“Pictures, too,” Crowley continued. “Videos, if you’re feeling bold.”

“That’s—”

“Then there’s video chat. That might be a bit much for you, though. Easier on the nerves if we can’t see each other.”

“A phone, then,” Aziraphale agreed.

There came Friday, just as quickly and just as fast. They’d woken up together, done a little routine, and began their search as early as possible. In less than twenty-four hours, Crowley would be off on some Satan-given mission from Hell, and Aziraphale would need to know how to use a phone. It wasn’t that he  _ didn’t _ know how to use one, or that he thought they were overly complicated. He just had never seen a use to have a mobile device in his pocket all the time. Crowley liked it; he liked the temptation of it, and Aziraphale even thought he’d had something to do with how fragile certain ones were. The screens, or something. Aziraphale wasn’t sure on the details.

Mobile phones were one of those things that Crowley understood better how they worked, which means he’d never just  _ had  _ one. He’d had go to through the entire thing of buying one through a carrier, the horrid hours of customer service when it didn’t active properly, and then paying for it on a monthly bill. Meaning that Aziraphale would have to do something roughly the same; he thought he would, anyway, but Crowley hadn’t just sat him down on the sofa to look at phones on the laptop. Instead, they’d actually gone to a store, all done in the hopes that Aziraphale would be rather comfortable for the whole thing. It was the same carrier Crowley had, and Aziraphale was already thinking he would just get whatever phone Crowley had on top of it.

Then, Crowley decided he wanted to upgrade for the fun of it. One upgrade turned into two, and then Aziraphale was left with the shop attendant to work on the activation of the phone, to answer questions. Technology was one of those easy things for angels and demons; it just seemed to work. Aziraphale had been a stickler, though, and it was why it had taken him so long to even update the cash register in his shop. Every bone in his body was made of curiosity and more curiosity. It made things complicated when he wanted to learn how they actually worked, instead of just accepting that it would work for him because he was an angel. Some of his questions made him feel rather a fool, standing there in the sleek little shop; those were the questions Crowley would answer later. When they were back at the flat with something warm to eat.

Aziraphale got his phone, a lovely rose gold color, while Crowley kept something black. Some things didn’t change. Aziraphale had the know-how to worry about cases, now, and he would certainly worry about those when Crowley was gone. It would be a nice welcome home present, he thought. He would get Crowley a case, and then he wouldn’t lose his own phone on his own kitchen counter. Quite the subtle way to say that he’d been missed for a week, and he hadn’t even  _ left _ yet. That was tomorrow. Aziraphale still had the present, and he treated it as such.

They went out to lunch: Italian. Crowley had wine with his meal, a garlic seared fish. Aziraphale just had water, and he was nervous. He’d eaten most of the appetizer by himself, including the salad, and still had room for the entree. It was nervousness, truly, even if Crowley didn’t catch on to something so subtle as eating a bit extra, a bit faster. There was hardly a comparison to be made, especially given how fast Crowley ate when he did. Unnoticed, and Aziraphale rather thought he was a fool for being so nervous. Crowley would be gone for a week, he would come back, and they would surely make up for lost time. Besides, it was a favor for Beelzebub—that wasn’t a bad thing to have under his belt, given the uncertainty of the future.

Home was no better, even when Aziraphale got his questions answered. They spent the evening together in the lounge watching movies while Aziraphale figured out how to use the little thing, and he believed he was getting quite good at it for the time. There were plenty of things to do with a phone so advanced, but he didn’t really have the time to spare in a day to sit down and play mobile games. He might, though. Some of them looked particularly fun, like the puzzle and thinking games. They were simple enough that he’d be able to set them down, anyway; he’d seen Crowley play one mobile game for over an hour. Even when he was dreadful at it, it seemed a bit addictive in quality. Probably Crowley’s own doing, too.

And just like that, Crowley had packed and went to sleep. Aziraphale had no mind to sleep, so he stayed in the lounge with the telly on a low volume. He’d be there in the morning, phone fully set and figured, when Crowley woke up to leave. He hadn’t even said where he was  _ going _ , though surely it was someplace close. He was taking the Bentley with him, and  _ not _ just appearing somewhere on a whim. Unless he was and just taking the Bentley with him in the miracle, anyway. Crowley didn’t have to tell him where he was going. It was probably for the best that Aziraphale not know, lest he follow and make a mess out of things.

In the morning, they stood together in the foyer with Crowley’s bag set up by the door. Crowley’s hands were on Aziraphale’s hips, and Aziraphale’s arms were loosely hanging around his neck; still, Aziraphale was having trouble looking at him. Even when he was so close, being so sweet, the way his thumbs rubbed little circles into the bit of skin where he’d untucked Aziraphale’s shirt from his slacks. Aziraphale was always dressed too nicely for the time at hand, but Crowley had ways around it. Just like this, and it sent a little flustered blush up Aziraphale’s neck.

“A week, angel. That’s all. It’s seven days. I’ll be back, and we can  _ rest _ ,” he hissed the last word, dangerously close to Aziraphale’s ear so he understood the meaning. Rest would have nothing to do with it.

“Will you—will you call me?” Aziraphale asked, a bit sheepish.

“Every night angel,” which didn’t really sound like a promise, but Aziraphale accepted it. It was the first time they’d been apart since Armageddon, and Aziraphale still thought about the time Crowley had threatened to run off to Alpha Centauri, all on his own. Even if it was a foolish idea, that Crowley would truly run off and leave him, sometimes Aziraphale had foolish ideas and believed them.

Crowley kissed him, then, once and fully over the mouth where their lips were closed, and it went no further. Still, Aziraphale sucked in through his nose and  _ sighed _ against Crowley. He played fondly with the short hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck and was more than disappointed when they had to pull apart. One final thing before Crowley could leave, then. Aziraphale took his sunglasses from the little cabinet in the foyer and slipped them right over his eyes.

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley smiled. “A week, then.”

“A week,” Aziraphale agreed.

Less than eighteen hours later, Crowley called him for the first time. He talked about the trip, how positively dreadful it had been. There had nearly been a wreck completely unrelated to the speed he was driving, which Aziraphale didn’t believe. He was glad Crowley was alright, though, and held up someplace rather comfortable. Crowley was off somewhere in Scotland, and still didn’t really care much for the details of his new, week-long task. He’d received those details about halfway through the trip and listened to about half of them fully. The rest of them he would just know. Clever, that—the just knowing part. Made little things like this easier, because Crowley never had to think too long or too hard about anything in particular. Just getting the job done.

That was the extent of the call. They swapped stories about the eighteen hours they’d been apart, then Crowley hung up, saying that he was rather put out for all the effort he’d used for the day. It was rather late, and bed sounded positively divine. Aziraphale bid him goodnight and waited to hear the click of the phone before he really believed that was all Crowley meant to say on their little talk. Then, Aziraphale held his phone in his hands, in his lap, and just stared at it. Like he truly thought Crowley would call back in the next minute and something would happen. Nothing happened, in fact, and Aziraphale ended up sleeping for the first time in a month—on Crowley’s side of the bed. If he was going to act like a child about the issue, he might as well go all the way.

Sunday, Crowley called just after dinner to ask what Aziraphale had eaten. By some strange and purely coincidental coincidence, they’d had similar things for dinner. Aziraphale knew that was a sad attempt to cheer him up, because Crowley  _ rarely _ ate food on his own, and he most certainly didn’t eat minestrone. It was just one of his things, Crowley; he didn’t like soup. They talked about dinner for a bit before Crowley mentioned a nice little ice cream shop he’d found. If he could find a way to bring some back, he certainly would plan to. Aziraphale  _ liked _ ice cream, he did, but there was something still digging on at the back of his mind. Still, nothing.

Monday night went just the same. Crowley told Aziraphale about his day, and Aziraphale, in return, told Crowley about a particularly bothersome customer that had spent an entire thirty minutes arguing with him. Aziraphale won out in the end, and his precious Pratchett novel was safe, but he did nearly think he was going to have to sell it. Crowley snorted through the receiver and begged that Aziraphale only stay safe. Books were replaceable, angels were not. That had seemed like a perfectly good turning point; Aziraphale was even seated in bed for it. But it ended. Crowley hung up ten minutes later with a pleasantly worded goodnight, whispered  _ just _ so that Aziraphale was sure Crowley knew what he was doing. And enjoying it.

Tuesday was the same.

Wednesday, Crowley had gone off on this story about the actual  _ job _ he was doing, some lone temptation plan that Aziraphale had stopped listening to twenty-three minutes in. He started hearing. Just Crowley’s voice. Just the rise and fall of his breath when he spoke, the way he enunciated things. The sharp pull on his s sounds always made something stir up a little, somewhere deeper in Aziraphale. Crowley had just gotten to a story about meeting the man he was to be tempting when Aziraphale dared to undo his trousers. It was a bit of a job to get them down over his hips, but he managed it with one hand while he hummed and answered along when Crowley directed things at him. Of course, he was listening. He was listening to the click of Crowley’s tongue,  _ dreaming _ about that tongue.

When he finally got a hand on himself, Aziraphale struggled to cover his gasp. He was achingly hard, and the way Crowley was drawling on was making it worse. Aziraphale had been waiting for this since Crowley  _ suggested _ the idea, and nothing had happened so far. If Crowley wouldn’t join him, Aziraphale would try it on his own. He’d never had much luck with this, but maybe like this—with the phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, his hand around the base of his cock—maybe he could, as Crowley put it, wank off.

“Are you listening, angel?” Crowley eventually asked.

Aziraphale hummed something affirmative at him, paying more attention to the head of his cock. He still had one hand down around the base, dripping lower to experiment, while his other hand worked over his cockhead. It was a clumsy, awkward thing, but it felt  _ nice _ , and Aziraphale’s breath hitched a bit in his hum.

“It doesn’t  _ sound _ like you’re listening,” Crowley was grinning. Aziraphale could hear it. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I-I’m listening, just as I said. You were talking about how awful the drive—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said with that  _ voice _ . A commanding voice he always used in bed when they were playing that game of Crowley was in charge, but Aziraphale was going to be a brat about it. It had Aziraphale dripping, just the sound of it.

“Y-yes, Crowley?” Aziraphale tried not to squeak when he thumbed over his slit.

“Tell me, angel, are you touching yourself? While I’m trying to share something with you?”

The silence that followed was enough of an answer, but Crowley wanted to hear one anyway. He waited, waited, and waited, until Aziraphale had had enough of the quiet.

“Oh, yes, Crowley. I am—I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. You said that we would, and I just—”

“I didn’t say that I’d start it,” Crowley chuckled. Aziraphale flushed, because that was true. Crowley had only said he’d call, and Aziraphale apparently just filled in the rest for himself. He was nervous, though; Crowley couldn’t blame him for being nervous.

“How does it feel, then?” Crowley continued. “What do you have?”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale stiffened. He wasn’t  _ good _ at this part, the talking part. The part where Crowley wasn’t sitting inches away from him and  _ knew _ already, so Aziraphale would have to answer. He could hear Crowley’s voice in the back of his head, coaxing him along. Crowley always did like to hear him say things. He just had to  _ say  _ it. Crowley would want that. “I have a cock,” he bit out.

“Wonderful,” Crowley replied, and behind his voice was the shuffling of denim. Crowley was worming out of his own pants, and Aziraphale breathed a little harder. “Put your phone on speaker, angel, it’s easier.”

Aziraphale slid farther down the bed, turned the speaker on, and finished wriggling out of his trousers. The underwear went next, and he could hear Crowley on the other end getting comfortable. He shivered to imagine it: Crowley sitting in one of those wide, comfy chairs, with his knees spread, a hand on his own cock. Aziraphale could see every vein, every subtle little curve—like Crowley’s cock was right in front of him. Oh, he wished it was.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Aziraphale. I want to know. I want to  _ help _ ,” he crooned.

“I’m touching myself,” Aziraphale replied, having mustered most of his courage. “Stroking, just like you taught me.”

“Oh, angel, I know that’s not enough for you. It’s never been enough for you.”

Aziraphale held his breath.

“Do you wish it was me, angel? Touching you?” There was a hitch in Crowley’s breath. He had a grip around himself, just tight enough that there was friction in the drag of his hand; his head rolled back over the top of the chair.

“Yes—Crowley, it’s not enough if it’s not you.”

“I know, dove, I know. You have to do it though, can you? Close your eyes for me.”

Aziraphale did just that.

“Good, angel,” Crowley muttered, then his eyes were closed. He was busy working over the head of his cock, biting into his lip while he worked things out. “Just imagine that it’s me, alright? I bet you’re laid out all pretty for me too, are you?”

“I-I haven’t taken off all my clothes.”

“Do that, angel. I want to see you naked.”

In his mind, Aziraphale knew that Crowley couldn’t actually  _ see _ him, but that didn’t seem to matter so much. Crowley knew what he looked like naked, and he could see it clear as day if he closed his eyes and imagined it—Aziraphale could do the same. It had him scrambling to get out of the rest of his clothes, his waist coat and his shirt. Once he had, once he was lying there in the bed, propped up on Crowley’s side on Crowley’s pillows, entirely naked, he told Crowley.

Crowley hissed through the receiver, and Aziraphale knew he’d just done something good to himself. His eyes were probably closed, his head back, imagining what Aziraphale looked like spread out on the bed, his knees slightly bent. Spread apart for just enough space that Crowley could slither between them and feel the hefty meat of Aziraphale’s thighs around him, grab at it and  _ take _ him. But oh, they were miles apart, and Crowley needed to  _ talk _ . Just like he’d promised.

“Oh, angel, the things I would do to you. Will you do what I ask?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied immediately, without even a breath. “Yes, Crowley, anything.”

“I want to get my hands on you, angel, all over you.”

“You  _ could _ ,” Aziraphale presses, “if you would just come back. A quick miracle, nothing at all—”

“Or,” and Crowley clicks with his tongue, “I could  _ tell _ you what I’d do to you. I’d do a great many things, Aziraphale, you know I would. I know what you  _ like _ ,” he nearly hisses. “I would kiss you, angel, right now. With my tongue down your throat; I  _ know _ how you like my tongue.”

Aziraphale did like  _ everything _ Crowley could do with his tongue, and in moments like these, it was almost always long and forked. Oh, Crowley could get him to come on tongue alone, the way that he worked it. He would brush up against the roof of his mouth in just the right way, or he would work his tongue over Aziraphale’s nipples to the point they were peaked a pretty pink and dripping with saliva. That tongue could do so much more, down, down; Crowley had once wrapped Aziraphale’s entire cock in it before he sucked. It hadn’t taken Aziraphale long then, and now, thinking about it, he  _ wanted _ it. He wanted Crowley’s tongue on him, inside him, anywhere he could get it.

“That’s it, I can tell you’re thinking something nice,” Crowley cooed at him. Aziraphale had gasped into the phone receiver, just an idle hand around his cock; but  _ thinking _ . Crowley had a point. “I want to get my hands on you, angel.”

“Please, please—I want that,” Aziraphale breathed. “What do I do, Crowley? Please, tell me what to do.”

“I want you to grab your tits, angel, just like I would.” Crowley stopped only to listen to the little whine Aziraphale let out but continued. “You know how I like to squeeze them, push them together.”

Aziraphale  _ did _ know. Crowley had such a fascination with Aziraphale’s chest, the meat of it. He liked the way that he could grab and mold, massage Aziraphale’s tits until he was squirming and hot with his mouth dropped open. He was positively divine, Aziraphale, in all ways. Even in the way where he grabbed at himself, just as Crowley had asked. Aziraphale cupped his tits in his hands and tried it, squeezing, pushing them together. Enough to make himself gasp.

“Oh, I’d like to push my cock between them,” Crowley continued. He heard the way Aziraphale moaned at that, and it made some kind of fire stir in his gut. His cock was leaking; what he wouldn’t have given to slip it right between Aziraphale’s tits and fuck him like that. Come on his face, maybe. By the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, when he told him, Aziraphale wanted it too. Badly.

“Crowley, please, I—it’s not enough,” Aziraphale sounded quite like he felt bad about it

“We’ll get there. You know how I like to take my time with you, angel. I know just what you like, what you  _ need _ .”

“I need  _ you _ ,” Aziraphale argued, then gasped again as he brushed over his own nipple. He could nearly hear Crowley smirk through the phone, the way he sounded.

“Do that again, angel. You’ve always been so sensitive, there.”

“Wh-whatever do you mean?”

“Your nipples, dove,” Crowley breathed out a laugh, tugging over the head of his cock now. He was imagining the scene, the tight little peaks of Aziraphale’s nipples while he tried to make himself feel good. Oh, and Aziraphale always tried. “Try different things. Do you remember what I do?”

Aziraphale nodded, “Yes—Crowley, I can’t suck on my own—” but he cut off before he said anything, too embarrassed. It didn’t stop him, the way that he grabbed at himself and brushed over his nipples.

“Lick your fingers,” it sounded like a suggestion, but that  _ tone _ made it a command. “Pinch them, angel. You can roll them, if you like, or try  _ flicking. _ That’s always a rise out of you, flicking.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitched in his throat, “but that’s so—it’s always so  _ mean, _ I…”

“I’ll hang up,” was all Crowley said.

Aziraphale made a bit of a panicked sound and did as he’d been told. He licked his fingers and let his hands wander back down to his chest.

“Talk to me. I won’t finish if you don’t talk to me.” Crowley was a bit breathless through the receiver. He was holding himself back, trying to coach Aziraphale along.

“Oh, Crowley, I don’t know—I don’t know what to say,” Aziraphale gasped when he pinched at his nipples. When he flicked them, just like Crowley had asked. It nearly hurt, but with his eyes closed, he could see Crowley looming above him with that leer in his eyes, doing it for him. Aziraphale even managed to do it again.

“Just tell me what you’re doing; I need to know. I want the  _ visual _ ,” he hissed.

“I’m—I’ve done just as you asked, Crowley. M-my nipples are  _ sore _ , Crowley, please.” His hips bucked, too. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was until that moment, when he deigned beg to do something different. He was aching, dripping a mess onto his stomach where his cock bobbed.

“I bet they are,” Crowley hummed. “Stiff, red little things, I bet. Oh, I’d like to get my mouth on you, angel. Like to suck on you until you’re  _ covered  _ in my marks.”

Aziraphale let out a heady little gasp, and he continued to prod at his nipples until it  _ did _ hurt. Until he knew Crowley would be satisfied with how stiff they were, how red with arousal. Thoroughly abused, overly sensitive. Crowley liked leaving Aziraphale like that and knowing he could do it through a phone was all the more intense. In turn, Crowley had one hand working fast over the shaft of his cock, while his other had spread down between his thighs to grip at his bollocks. They were heavy, and Crowley was quite ready to come. He had to hold back, always had to hold back. He wanted to get Aziraphale off first.

“Angel,” Crowley gasped, “touch yourself for me. Your cock, angel.”

“Crowley, you know it’s not—I’m not very—”

“I  _ know _ , angel. Get the lube and  _ touch _ yourself. Do as I’ve said.”

Aziraphale whimpered, but he did just as Crowley said. With one hand on his cock, he fumbled through Crowley’s nightstand to find the little bottle he kept stashed away. Stroking, just as Crowley told him, with Crowley’s name on his lips in little gasps and cries while Crowley listened with an increasing curiosity. The little sounds Aziraphale made were just divine; with his eyes closed, he could  _ see _ Aziraphale underneath him, bucking and writhing from the touch of Crowley’s hands, the way he would grab at his cock just right and tug until he came.

“I’ve got it, the lube,” Aziraphale sighed. He brushed his thumb over the head of his cock and shuddered. “Crowley, what—?”

“I want you to spread your thighs, Aziraphale. Spread them wide, like I’m there with you.” When he heard the shifting of fabric, he hissed, “Yes, just like that. You’re so  _ good _ for me, dove.”

“Crowley, I wish you were  _ here _ ,” Aziraphale continued, but he spread his thighs out and continued to work along his cock. “The things you could do to me. I’d let you do anything, if you were here. Crowley, please—you could  _ have _ me.”

“I already have you, angel. You’re mine, and you’re going to do exactly as I tell you, aren’t you?”

“Crowley—”

“Aren’t you, angel?” Crowley continued, harsher this time. “When I tell you to fit those pretty little fingers of yours inside yourself, you’ll do it.”

“Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale shivered.

“Start with one, angel. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Crowley was suddenly crooning at him instead of snapping. “You know just what to do, don’t you? Make sure you’ve got plenty of lube—I know you like it  _ wet _ .”

Aziraphale did like it wet, he had to admit. He liked to listen to the sounds they would make together when they were dripping. So, he used plenty of lube, just like Crowley suggested, before shifting just so that he could get his hand at his hole, circle it with the lube covered finger.

“Still got a hand on that pretty cock of yours?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, Crowley—oh, it’s not the same. I need you. I need you here  _ with _ me.”

“What does it feel like, angel? Can you imagine that it’s me?”

Aziraphale keened, his eyes tightly shut. He could imagine it was Crowley, looking over him then, but only that. “It’s not the same,” Aziraphale whimpered. “I don’t—I can’t reach quite right.”

“It’s alright, angel, just keep going. It feels good. Just let yourself feel good.”

Aziraphale took in a deep breath. He was on his side, now, stroking his cock slow and surely between his thighs with his other arm curled behind himself. He had just one finger, like Crowley had said, circling at his entrance and spreading the lube. It was cold and sticky, but he liked the feeling. He liked the way it made him shiver, the way it made him think about Crowley being there with him, pressed up behind him and coaxing him on.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley urged. He was close, himself. He’d been right on the edge for what felt like hours, only minutes, and was ready to come. “Press inside now, slowly. Just the one, like I always do.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, doing just as he’d been told. “Crowley, Crowley  _ please. _ It feels so good; I need you.” He didn’t stop until he’d pressed his finger as far as he could manage, then he gasped into the phone receiver.

“I would take you if I could,” Crowley said. His hips were bucking of their own, now, and he had quite given up on holding back. Fucking his own fist, he continued. “I would spread you out on that big bed of mine and ravish you, angel. Make a mess of you. Not until you’re ready though, no. Never until you’re ready. Add a second finger, angel, or you’ll never have my cock.”

“Crowley, don’t say that. I want it so badly,” Aziraphale cried. He pressed in a second finger, alongside the first, and squirmed to get comfortable. He was breathing heavy, though his mouth, and trying to stay calm. It wasn’t working; every stroke of his cock, every press of his fingers—he could feel the fire building up in his stomach, but  _ something _ was missing. “You could do anything to me, Crowley. I’d let you, I’d let you, if you only come back.”

“When I come back, I’ll fuck you like you deserve. I’ll pin you down and take you until you  _ scream _ , alright, angel? I promise. You’ve been so good for me, keep going.” Crowley had thrown his head back, groaning.

At the third finger, Aziraphale’s breath got heavier, his moans higher, and his hand so much more uncoordinated. He was crying out for Crowley; it  _ felt _ good, but he was missing something. Something so crucial, he didn’t think he could finish without it. Even as he crooked and bent his fingers, following Crowley’s every instruction. Crowley knew the inside of Aziraphale’s body better than Aziraphale could ever hope to, and  _ even  _ as he brushed over that spot inside himself and cried out, something wasn’t clicking.

“Angel, yes,” Crowley gasped. “Just like that, keep going. You’re doing so well for me. I’m close, I’m so close—” Crowley cut off with a cry that Aziraphale recognized. He’d come over his own hand at the thought of Aziraphale, listening to him cry out with his fingers knuckle deep in his own arse. Crowley had come, and Aziraphale—Aziraphale felt tears prickling down his cheeks. A long stretch of silence followed.

“Angel?” Crowley croaked out.

“I can’t, Crowley, I can’t—” Aziraphale scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand.

Crowley hushed him, “it’s alright, it’s alright. That’s enough for tonight. We can try again after you’ve had a good rest. I promise, when I call you tomorrow, it’ll be with a purpose.”

“Crowley, I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize, dove. I’ll take care of you, I always do. Just trust me, alright? You did wonderfully tonight, and tomorrow will be better.”

“What if I can’t?” Aziraphale’s voice was downright small, and Crowley shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair. He felt rather bad for it, having come on his own, especially when he  _ couldn’t _ be there for Aziraphale.

“You can, angel. I’ll make you come, and that’s a promise.”

Somehow, Aziraphale believed him.

Crowley introduced the new topic through text, sometime after three. Aziraphale had just finished this second cup of tea for the afternoon, just after shooing out a customer, when he saw the text. It would have brought him to his knees if he hadn’t been sitting at his desk, those little readers of his perched just on the end of his nose. Everything about the text was crafted very carefully, and Aziraphale could appreciate that, but nothing would prepare him for the ending. Where Crowley had suggested that Aziraphale stop by an adult shop after closing the bookshop to pick himself up  _ toys _ . The following texts had been carefully designed to  _ explain _ the first text. The toys, anyway, and Aziraphale’s entire face was red by the end of it.

Four texts in total, all to the character limit, and all to the point of saying Crowley had thoughts and ideas about it all, but really believed Aziraphale should start off simple. Aziraphale didn’t even dare to  _ think _ the word, let alone say it, let alone  _ purchase _ one from a shop. Oh, no, he could never. Not unless Crowley would be there to drag him through the shop to pick one  _ for _ him, and then deal with the embarrassment of purchase. Crowley wasn’t there to do any of that, which left this entirely to Aziraphale—the horrid thought of purchasing himself a dildo. He wouldn’t. He refused. He’d do something different.

First, he would close the shop early. He wouldn’t sell anything anyway, so it was a rather fine idea. Second, he would go straight back to Crowley’s flat and try to work the nerves out of his system. Crowley said he’d be calling just after seven, so Aziraphale had to be ready. Not just ready to start, but ready to  _ go _ . And that meant everything he’d done the previous night with Crowley’s help; he’d be doing alone. Which was fine. He could do that, he thought. Aziraphale was more than capable of opening himself; he’d done it before. Crowley was usually there, but he would pointedly ignore that fact for now.

Aziraphale did close the shop early, and he did go straight home, and he did work the nerves out of his system with a nice mug of hot chocolate. Then, it was down to work. One less than minor miracle surely wouldn’t hurt him here, not when no angel in their right mind would want to know just what Aziraphale was doing. He intended to miracle himself a dildo, one to expect specifications. And once he had it, he spent a long, long time just staring at it: to make sure he’d gotten it correct, and to just marvel at what Crowley was going to have him do. Aziraphale was inexperienced, but he wasn’t a fool—he knew what this was for.

Then, he just had the nitty-gritty.

It was quarter-to-six when Aziraphale was finally three fingers deep, gasping into the pillows. He was on his back, this time, with his knee drawn up and his hand underneath. His prick was desperately hard, leaking, and everything reminded him of the night before. There was a subtle burn, less intense now that Crowley wasn’t groaning into his ear. But it was there. Just in his gut where he knew if he pressed  _ hard _ enough, deep enough, he could come. He needed Crowley’s help, always, and the bugger hadn’t called him yet. He’d said after six, but Aziraphale got what he wanted at the best of times. This would be one of those moments.

He wiped his fingers on a towel he had brought with him before laying fully on his back; the dildo was a perfect miracle with none of that smell or odd feeling, and it felt strangely good nestled on his chest. When he angled just so to take the picture, the pressure from his arms had his tits folding together around the dildo  _ just _ like Crowley had described, the night prior, and it made Aziraphale feel a little good about this. Even as he made sure not to get his face in the picture—he was too nervous for that. With the picture taken, without his face, he sent it to Crowley and waited.

Promptly three minutes later, when Aziraphale had two fingers back inside himself in a desperate attempt to get off, his Crowley-designated ringtone was going off inches from his face. He answered it in haste, barely remembering to use the speaker function. He managed to twist his fingers just right while he answered, but Crowley seemed in another world all together.

“Aziraphale, you’re a  _ menace _ ,” he said, breathless, quite like he’d had to rush to get somewhere he could finally call.

“Whatever are you— _ ah _ —talking about?” Aziraphale replied, bucking his hips down onto his own fingers.

“Don’t play coy with me, angel, I saw the picture. You did  _ not _ buy that, you—” Crowley almost couldn’t  _ say _ it; Aziraphale could nearly hear the way his face flushed at the idea. “I thought we agreed no frivolous miracles.”

“Having a dildo shaped like your cock,” Aziraphale gasped, then, “is not frivolous. I  _ told _ you; I need it. I can’t come if it’s not with you, Crowley.”

“ _ Christ, _ Aziraphale. Keep talking like that, and I’ll come before I even get my trousers off.”

“You told me to be ready, Crowley. I’m ready for you. I’m ready for your cock, and I even, well—something similar. Aren’t you proud of me, Crowley?” he whined into the phone. He needed to hear it, that he’d done well.

“I’ll be proud of you when you’ve taken it up your arse, angel,” Crowley replied.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale keened, rutting down into himself. “Please,  _ please _ —”

“You’re doing so  _ well _ , Aziraphale, I promise.” Crowley worked his jeans down over his hips while he talked, trying to subtly and quickly get into bed as naked as he could get, the phone between his cheek and shoulder. He listened as Aziraphale made a happy little noise from the back of his throat, then smiled. “Yes, you need to be  _ told _ how good you are. I know. Don’t think I would deny you, angel.”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy with me,” Aziraphale admitted, though he sounded less upset than he might have meant, with a third finger wedged inside himself.

“Never, love. Not when you’re trying so hard for me. We just have to see if it stands up to  _ me _ ,” and he hissed that last part, making it obvious when he collapsed onto bed springs. “I know what you really want, and it’s  _ miles _ away from you.”

Another little noise Aziraphale made; Crowley was hard before he even got a hand on himself, and he kept it slow.

“Tell me what you’ve done, love. So, I can tell you how good you’ve been for me, proper.”

“I—I touched myself, just like you told me too—”

“Details, love, details. How did you touch yourself? What did you think about? Do you still have a pretty cock for me?”

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale breathed. “I thought about you: how you would touch me, how good you make me feel. And I—” Aziraphale’s breath hitched in his throat. He could hear the wet stroke of skin through the phone, and he knew Crowley was getting off on this. Something about it emboldened him, to know that he had such a strong effect on Crowley. “I pretended you were with me, Crowley. The bed smells like you, and—and I couldn’t help myself, Crowley.”

“Yes,” Crowley hissed. “Tell me what you did, angel. What did you  _ do _ , lying there on my side of the bed? What are you doing?”

“I touched myself,” Aziraphale gasped. “I—I stroked myself, thinking it was you. But it wasn’t enough, Crowley, it’s never enough. I—” he broke off, feeling the warm flush in his face.

“Go on. I want to  _ know _ ,” Crowley gasped, hand at the base of his cock. He had to slow down, but he wanted to know what Aziraphale was doing.

“I need more; I need  _ you _ , but you’re not here, Crowley. And I—I put my fingers inside.”

Crowley hissed in return, snaking his hand down to grab at his bollocks instead—he couldn’t come just from this. That would be ridiculous of him; he wanted to hear  _ more _ . “How many, angel?”

“Th-three,” Aziraphale replied; his face was burning red, and he would feel like quite the fool if he couldn’t hear Crowley. Crowley sounded wrecked at the thought alone: Aziraphale, lying on his side of the bed, in his pillows, and his sheets, with three fingers shoved up inside himself and chasing orgasm.

“How does it feel? Does it feel good, angel?”

“Y-yes, I just. I can’t reach quite right, and it’s—this is  _ hard _ ,” Aziraphale whined.

“That’s why I do all the work,” Crowley chuckled. “You need me there, don’t you? You need me to lay you down and take care of you, to show you just where to touch and how to move.”

Aziraphale practically keened.

“I would watch you; you know. Watch how you’re touching yourself. I would  _ help, _ of course, because I can’t keep my hands off you. Could you take more fingers, Aziraphale? Would you open right up for me if I pressed inside to  _ teach _ you.”

“Yes—yes. Oh, Crowley, I need you. Please, I need you to take care of me,” he was panting, Aziraphale, his face buried in the pillow while he crooked his fingers.

“No, you don’t,” Crowley grinned something devious. “You’ve got that new toy you showed me, the one you were so  _ proud _ of. I want you to use it.”

“But—”

“Fingers out, let’s go. Before I make you suck them clean.”

Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley could hear the shuffle of the sheets. When Aziraphale’s fingers came free, he gasped into the phone, and then reached for the dildo. It was  _ exactly _ Crowley’s shape; Aziraphale remembered it well, too well. The whole thing was a nice, sleek black, and it felt a nice weight in his hand. He would have it worked inside himself, soon enough. Soon enough, after Crowley  _ told _ him what to do. He needed to hear Crowley, to pretend better that he was there with him, in bed.

“Crowley, what should I—?”

“Do you want to get your mouth on it, angel? I bet you do. I bet you want to swallow it down to the base and make a mess of yourself.”

Aziraphale hesitated, if only because Crowley was  _ right _ . He’d been thinking about it since he created the thing, the feel of it down his throat.

“Go ahead,” Crowley cooed, his voice a deep and dangerous sort of sound in Aziraphale’s ear. “Make those pretty noises you always do when my cock’s down your throat. Mind the teeth, love, alright?”

Aziraphale hummed out something like an affirmative before he licked a long stripe up the underside of the dildo, wriggling closer to it, to the phone, so Crowley could  _ hear _ the wet of his tongue as he moved. Crowley’s hips bucked involuntarily as he listened; Aziraphale had started to moan the second he got the head of the fake cock into his mouth. With his eyes closed and enough imagination, he could  _ really _ pretend that this was Crowley’s cock he had in his mouth, pressing along the roof where he was most sensitive.

“Just like that, angel,” Crowley groaned. “You’re doing so well. You like it, don’t you? Having something in your mouth.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement. He  _ loved _ sucking Crowley’s cock, even if he hadn’t quite perfected it yet. There was nothing better than having his nose buried in Crowley’s pubic hair, the slight strain on the back of his throat. It was—everything. Aziraphale’s entire body lit up just at the thought.

“A little more, dove. I know you can take it. I’m going to bury myself in your throat and hold you there until I’m done with you,” Crowley’s breath hitched when he thumbed his cockhead. “You’d like that though, you would. You like to be  _ used _ .”

Aziraphale couldn’t even deny that, not as he took the dildo farther into his mouth, until he felt the head of it prodding at his throat, and he  _ moaned  _ for Crowley. His hips bucked, then; with one hand, he held the dildo steady, and the other, he wrapped around the thick base of his cock and stroked. It was Crowley’s hand, he told himself, and Crowley’s cock in his mouth. He was pleasing Crowley, and he was. The sounds Crowley was making from the phone. Aziraphale’s cock was dripping a mess on the bed sheets, and he felt close. Truly, like he would come from this. The idea was exciting.

“You’re doing  _ so  _ good for me, dove,” Crowley groaned. “Keep it up, just like that. Move your head for me. Use your tongue.”

Just as he’d been told, Aziraphale started to bob his head, running his tongue along the vein he’d created  _ specifically _ for this. Crowley groaned through the phone, a sudden hitch in his breath like he could  _ feel _ when Aziraphale tongued over the cockhead, over the fake slit. A fire burned down in Aziraphale’s belly at the idea, that Crowley could feel this. There was less give than a real cock, but it was  _ nearly _ the same, and the way Crowley sounded—Aziraphale pulled back with a gasp, squeezing his hand pathetically over the head of his cock.

“Crowley, I need you,” he said into the phone. “I need you inside me, please,  _ please _ .”

“By all means, then.” Even as Crowley tried to sound cool and collected, there was an uneasiness in his breath that said he was close, that he was struggling to hold on. What was better was that Aziraphale felt the same way, and it was a rush to slather lube over the dildo and get it between his thighs.

He gasped at the first touch, where the cockhead slid right past his hole and up to his sac. The press was  _ cold _ and pleasing all at the same time, but it wouldn’t be enough. Aziraphale had to reach both of his hands between his thighs to steady the dildo, to guide it to his hole and push. The stretch—the push—the way he opened right up for it; Aziraphale gasped out Crowley’s name, his eyes screwed shut, and he pushed. He spread his knees out, threw his head back, and pushed. His body  _ welcomed _ the intrusion, split right open for Crowley’s cock—the dildo. Aziraphale’s jaw fell open in a long groan when the base pressed into his skin, cold against the searing heat of him.

“Crowley—”

“You’re a fucking peach, you know that?” Crowley replied in something near a growl. “Those sounds you make are obscene, and all for a little toy?”

“For you, for you, it’s only ever for you,” Aziraphale gasped. His hips worked on their own, and it was all he could do to hold the dildo in place while he fucked himself on it. “Oh, it feels just like you. Crowley, Crowley—” he broke off into a long litany of Crowley’s name, of  _ please _ , and  _ need you _ .

“Does it feel good, love?” a cry of  _ yes _ . “Better than me?”

“Crowley! No, no—no, I need  _ you _ . I need you  _ here,  _ please,” Aziraphale gasped.

“What if I told you to stop? Would you be able to?”

Aziraphale cried out once he’d angled just right, the dildo right up against his prostate. He was in control, he realized, and if he wanted to abuse himself to orgasm, then he could do it. He could come on cock alone, crying Crowley’s name—but Crowley had just asked him a question. Would he be able to stop? He needed this. He needed to come so badly.

“I—please, don’t make me stop, Crowley,” Aziraphale nearly whimpered.

“Ask nicely, angel.” Crowley had slowed his own strokes. He wanted this to  _ last _ as long as Aziraphale would.

“ _ Please _ , Crowley, let me come. I want to—with your cock inside me, please. Don’t make me stop, I can’t—I  _ can’t _ —”

“Go on, then. You can do it. Come for me, angel. I want to  _ hear _ you.”

Aziraphale kept going. He fucked himself on the dildo, rolling his hips down to meet every slap of it against his arse. He could feel every crease, every roll of the fake cock inside him, and it set his body alight with  _ feeling. _ Every nerve was firing, and when he brushed his prostate, oh—he cried into the phone for Crowley. Begged him to hit again, to go faster, harder. Crowley would oblige him, were he there, and Aziraphale’s arm was starting to hurt. He kept going, though, listening to Crowley’s mumblings inches from his face. His praise, his awe. How good Aziraphale was being for him, how  _ hot _ . Aziraphale clenched down around the dildo and rolled into it, feeling the shape of its cockhead over every sensitive little nerve he had. Right over his prostate again, and again, and again—he  _ always _ made it so easy to find. Crowley was always so good at ignoring it, but he wasn’t there.

“You’re doing so good, you’re so close. Come on, angel,” Crowley rolled his head back with a cry. He was about to come, his eyes closed, and his fist tight around his own cock. He could only  _ imagine _ he was fucking Aziraphale, could only dream about what he’d do when he got home.

“Crowley, I’m—” Aziraphale suddenly cried out, cried, with tears down his cheeks as he came with the dildo still buried in his arse.

Crowley followed a second later, a low groan from the back of his throat. He’d squeezed just right around the head of his cock in  _ perfect _ memory of the way Aziraphale always tightened up when he came, and he’d followed in a spectacular display of come on his chest. Then, there was silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing from both ends of the phone. For a long moment, that’s all there was. Breathing, basking in the glow of it all. Aziraphale’s face was a sharp, pretty shade of red, and he was smiling through the panted breaths.

“Did you come?” Crowley finally asked.

There was a second of nodding before Aziraphale realized he needed to  _ answer. _ Crowley wasn’t actually sitting with him. “Yes. It was— Oh, Crowley, that was wonderful.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m  _ proud _ of you, Aziraphale,” just as he’d promised he’d be. “Do you think you can wait just a while longer?” It was Thursday. Crowley would be home on Saturday. Crowley might even be a home a bit earlier, if he could manage; that, he’d keep to himself though. He didn’t want to get Aziraphale’s hopes up, in case something came up.

“I can,” Aziraphale nodded. “I miss you, Crowley.” He hadn’t actually said it yet.

Crowley grinned something sappy. What Aziraphale didn’t know, and didn’t need to know, was that Crowley had opted to sit on the side to correspond to Aziraphale’s own side of their bed. Just something to add to the scene; it wasn’t as if Crowley didn’t need a little help every now and again.

“I miss you, too, Aziraphale,” Crowley replied back, nothing more than a whisper.

Aziraphale wished he could have kissed Crowley for that. It made his chest swell; he knew in his mind that Crowley wouldn’t do something like this with a purely physical motivation, but just to  _ hear _ it made all the difference. That Crowley missed him, wished that they could be together. It was just until Saturday, and when Crowley came home, he would have quite the time keeping his hands away from Aziraphale. He had missed him so badly that even in the silence they were in, he felt a bit better. Just listening to Aziraphale’s breathing, the slight whimper when he must have removed the dildo. Aziraphale was an absolute delight, and Crowley really, truly, couldn’t wait to get home.

Friday, sometime after dinner where Aziraphale had just opted not to eat anything, he heard the doorknob rattling. It was an unusual thing for the timing, that Crowley wasn’t supposed to be home for another thirteen hours, but the door handle sounded quite like a key had been inserted by someone with not enough hands to actually open a door. Aziraphale had stolen into the foyer of the flat before the door opened, and  _ Crowley _ stepped inside, dropped his bag, and shut the door. A second felt like a year as they stared at each other; what had meant to be a surprise was horribly ruined by Aziraphale’s own cleverness, but Crowley hadn’t the time to care about that. He lunged through the space between him to do  _ just _ as he’d promised: get his hands on Aziraphale.

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him something obscene with tongue and the clack of teeth. The surprise of it had Aziraphale faltering, and he stopped with a groan into Crowley’s lips when his back hit the wall. Crowley didn’t stop his assault, not when he could reach between their chests and start undoing Aziraphale’s waistcoat. Always so bloody dressed well and proper, no matter the time of day. No matter how late it was, and no matter that Crowley had his knee shoved up between his thighs to grind into his crotch. Aziraphale gasped and eventually shoved Crowley’s hands off to make quicker work of his own coat.

“Been thinking about you,” Crowley muttered between them, his breath hot on Aziraphale’s neck.

“Have you, dear?” Aziraphale sounded breathless already.

“Been thinking about what I’d do to you when I got my hands on you,” and Crowley was kissing him again, along the neck in a hot, open-mouthed press of teeth and tongue. Aziraphale fiddled until he got his waistcoat off, then started on the buttons of his shirt. His knees were already feeling weak, but Crowley’s own meant that he couldn’t slip down the wall. He was all but pinned where he was, helpless until Crowley would pull away. Aziraphale couldn’t help the shiver it sent through him.

“I-I’ve been thinking about you too, dear,” Aziraphale barely managed out. When his shirt was undone, Crowley’s hands were on his chest in a second. In each hand, Crowley groped at Aziraphale’s tits and pressed closer into him, marveling in the way Aziraphale moaned, gasped—his nipples were still sore. Such sensitive little things, they were, and Crowley pulled back if only to get his mouth on one of them. Aziraphale practically keened.

“Crowley, please—Crowley, they’re  _ sore _ , oh,” but Aziraphale didn’t push him away. He even invited him closer, arching his back away from the wall to press his chest into Crowley’s mouth as Crowley switched sides. He squeezed Aziraphale’s right tit between his thumb and forefinger, licking over his nipple until it was an angry read, and Aziraphale was shaking.

“In the foyer, dear?” Aziraphale gasped. “Please, can we—”

“If we go to bed,” Crowley pulled back, something dangerous written over his face, “what will you let me do?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped out a breath, “anything, Crowley.”

“Do you still have that little toy of yours?” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s chest again when he didn’t answer immediately, and after a gasp—

“Yes, it’s in the nightstand. Oh, Crowley, please—”

“To bed, then, angel,” and Crowley pulled back entirely to yank Aziraphale along with him.

They left Aziraphale’s shirt and waistcoat in the foyer. Crowley’s shirt and sports jacket found a new home on the hallway floor, and by the time he had Aziraphale pressed into the sheets, there was only the fabric of trousers between them. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, not with how tight Crowley’s jeans always were, and not with how he was grinding their pricks together. Aziraphale could see the outline of Crowley’s cock so clearly, he had a mind to think Crowley hadn’t worn any underwear. He wouldn’t complain if that were true—it meant less layers. Less time until Crowley’s cock was inside him. Oh, he hoped Crowley would fuck him.

Crowley had a different plan. After tugging Aziraphale’s trousers down far enough that he got the hint to get them  _ off _ , Crowley moved over to the nightstand. He had to check them both; the lube was in his, and the dildo was stashed in Aziraphale’s. Both of them, he tossed on the bed before shimmying out of his jeans. Just as Aziraphale had thought, he hadn’t worn underwear. There was no way there would have been room for it, let alone the mass of his cock. Aziraphale licked his lips just as Crowley moved back onto the bed. They shifted around, Aziraphale spreading his legs for Crowley, but Crowley did not move between them. Instead, he ran his hands up Aziraphale’s shins until he rested on his knees, then stopped.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale shifted. He was only half hard, as it was, but Crowley’s gaze alone was fixing that.

“I believe I promised to teach you a few things, didn’t I?” Crowley started, and Aziraphale felt something stir in him. Crowley may have had no intentions to fuck him at all. “What if there’s a time I leave again?”

“You—you wouldn’t,” Aziraphale protested.

“I might have to, you never know. What would you do without me?”

“Well, I’d touch myself! Just like—just like we did. You, you would call, and—” Aziraphale cut off when Crowley leaned down over him, inches away, like they might kiss.

“What if I don’t call, angel? What would you do then?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer that one. In truth, he didn’t  _ know.  _ He hoped this was all some sort of cruel joke; the idea that Crowley wouldn’t  _ call _ him if he went away, well, that was nearly too much. Aziraphale didn’t want that, and he certainly didn’t like it. Crowley kissed him the second his displeasure made it to his face, then pulled back with a kiss to his forehead.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Crowley said. “I wouldn’t very much enjoy that either.”

“I would hope so. That was rather cruel.”

“I’m sorry, angel. I would  _ certainly _ call you, but I still want to teach you. I can’t stand to see you so frustrated.”

“Teach me?” Aziraphale spread his thighs a little wider when Crowley pulled back. Crowley took one of Aziraphale’s hands and the lube bottle, and Aziraphale understood all at once. “Oh! Crowley, you mean for me? I don’t—I don’t think I can—”

“You can, angel. I want to watch you. You sounded so divine through the phone that I just have to see what you look like, giving yourself pleasure. We’ll get you ready.”

Aziraphale gulped, but he didn’t reject it when Crowley poured lube over his fingers and sat back on his haunches. From his spot on the pillows, Aziraphale could  _ see _ how hard Crowley was. He wouldn’t disappoint him, not for something he seemed to want so badly. It took just a bit of confidence to reach between his thighs, but he did. He delighted at the way Crowley’s face lit up, the way his eyes bled a solid yellow, and his tongue darted up. Aziraphale truly had Crowley’s undivided attention, and he would use it to the best of his ability.

“Just one, first,” Crowley said, rubbing his hands up and down Aziraphale’s thighs. “Just like that, angel.”

Aziraphale gasped when he pressed inside himself, just one finger. He spread the lube over his hole once, twice, then pressed back inside with another gasp. His hips bucked, steadied only by Crowley’s constant presence, near as he was. There was no hesitation when Aziraphale gripped at his cock with his free hand, stroking himself fully from base to tip. Just the way Crowley had taught him once, and the grin that spread over Crowley’s face was enough to say he was doing  _ something _ right. His breath hitched when Crowley’s hand slid a little further, a little closer towards his prick.

“How does it feel, angel?” Crowley asked, low and quiet.

“It’s not—it’s not like you.”

“This isn’t like me either,” Crowley said, holding the back dildo up just enough that Aziraphale could see it. “You got off all the same.”

“I—”

“Keep going,” Crowley coaxed. He covered Aziraphale’s hand in his own, helping him along as he stroked his cock. His other hand, he molded over Aziraphale’s as he worked his finger in and out of himself. There was excess lube dripping down his skin, onto the bed, and Crowley gathered that in his fingers.

“Will you let me help?” Crowley asked. He didn’t move until Aziraphale gave a tentative nod, watching with wide eyes and jaw dropped open.

Crowley pressed his finger inside, just along Aziraphale’s. The sudden stretch had Aziraphale rolling his head back into the pillows, his hips working down over their fingers.  _ Their _ fingers. Crowley had pressed his finger right inside, and Aziraphale’s body had opened right up for him. Now, they were moving together. Crowley was guiding him, slowly, pressing their fingers along Aziraphale’s walls in ways he didn’t quite know were possible. There were sparks creeping their way all the way down to his toes, where he curled and stretched them into the sheets below. Crowley’s hand was over his cock, too. Never touching, not directly, just helping Aziraphale along. Finding just where he was sensitive and pressing their fingers together.

Aziraphale cried out, not sure where to go. He rolled his hips, trying to find more of  _ everything _ all at once. Crowley’s hands were skilled, subtle. He knew just what to do, where to press to take Aziraphale apart piece by piece. This is what Aziraphale was missing—he was already feeling that heat build up in his pelvis, where he knew he would come if Crowley didn’t stop. And Crowley didn’t stop. He leaned down to press a flutter of kisses along Aziraphale’s thigh, watching the way his leg shook and jiggled.

“Another finger, dove,” Crowley said. Aziraphale didn’t hesitate to comply and pressed his middle finger inside himself. Crowley hissed out his approval and did nothing more, just helped. Just watched. Kept his gaze predatory and close as Aziraphale worked his fingers in and out of himself, rubbing in just the places Crowley had showed him. His breath was hitching, his hips working down over his fingers; if not for Crowley’s hand, he would have long since abandoned his prick, leaking as it was. He could come from this alone, if pressed.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale whimpered. “I need you; I need more.”

“You’ll have me,” Crowley promised. “And you’ll have more. Let me take care of you.”

Aziraphale rolled his head back, trying to figure just what that meant. He trusted Crowley—he trusted Crowley to stop if something happened he didn’t like. So, when Crowley prodded a second of his own fingers inside, Aziraphale didn’t protest. He just cried out, jaw slack and eyes wide. The stretch was—he’d  _ never _ experienced something like this. Not on fingers, and it was half Crowley’s doing. Pushing their fingers in deeper, together, until he could crook them just right to press the tips of Aziraphale’s into his prostate and have him rub. His legs nearly spasmed from the intensity of it; they fell open, farther, inviting Crowley  _ closer _ . Crowley came no closer.

“How does it feel?” Crowley asked.

“It’s—it’s too much. It’s too much, I can’t—” Aziraphale admitted.

“You can. You can take  _ more _ —”

“No!” Aziraphale shook his head. “No—no, I mean. I’m going to come, Crowley, I can’t help myself. Please, please, let me stop stroking—”

Crowley obliged that and pulled away, taking Aziraphale’s hand away from his prick. “Wouldn’t want you coming too fast, would we?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“We’ll need all the hands we can get for this. Come now, I think you’re ready.”

Crowley pulled back his fingers, and Aziraphale followed. The sudden emptiness left him gasping, aching for something  _ more _ . It was coming. With more lube slathered over his hole, and then over the sleek black of the dildo. Aziraphale watched a bit hungry for it, mesmerized by the way Crowley’s hand moved up and down. It was his own cock, really, of course he knew how to work it. How to make it look good. It would have felt good, too, but Crowley hadn’t touched himself once. He was entirely focused on Aziraphale, on Aziraphale’s pleasure. The idea made Aziraphale a bit warm, but then his thoughts scrambled at the hard press of the dildo at his hole.

Crowley was whispering little nothings to him as he pressed closer, pushed the dildo in farther. He didn’t stop, didn’t give Aziraphale a chance to breathe until the base was flush against him, and then he replaced his hand with Aziraphale’s own. There was more lube, just to make it wet, to make the glide easy. And then, Crowley started him on a rhythm. Slow, deliberate,  _ hard _ . He moved Aziraphale’s hand until he caught on; Aziraphale had always been such a quick study. Crowley kissed his knee before leaving him to work himself on the dildo. Always full of surprises, Crowley had a different idea.

Once Crowley had moved to straddle Aziraphale’s chest, he stopped. Aziraphale might have even opened his mouth, to  _ accept _ Crowley, but Crowley put a finger to his mouth and grinned like the devil he was. No, he wouldn’t let Aziraphale have a taste. He needed something for himself, too, since Aziraphale was obviously so preoccupied with the fake cock in his arse. Crowley settled for rolling his hips, rubbing his prick into the divot of his sternum. Aziraphale made a noise in the back of his throat—turned on.

“You understand then, don’t you?” Crowley asked. “Just keep moving. I want you fucking yourself, do you understand? You’re not to touch me.”

Aziraphale nodded; he had to keep one hand screwed up in the sheets beneath the pillows just to control himself. With his other, he worked the dildo like Crowley wanted. Hard, deliberate. Until his thighs were trembling with the force of it, but he didn’t stop. He  _ couldn’t _ stop, not when Crowley was fulfilling so many promises. Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s tits and worked his thumbs over his nipples, rolling them until Aziraphale was gasping for _ more _ , even if it hurt. Even if they were sore and sensitive little nubs, Aziraphale wanted more. Crowley provided, like he’d promised. He pressed Aziraphale’s tits together, around his cock, and rocked his hips.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped.

“Keep going, angel. I know you can do it.”

Aziraphale nodded, but he was positively mesmerized. Watching Crowley’s cockhead peak out from between his tits was something he’d never imagined. Now, he didn’t want to look at anything else. It was tantalizing, slow, and he could tell Crowley was trying to hold back about it. If only it were possible to lean forward enough to  _ lick _ —Aziraphale wanted more of this. Wanted more of it all. The drag of Crowley’s prick was something he’d never felt like this, and somehow, Crowley still had mind enough to massage his fingers into the fat, poking and prodding at his nipples. There was fire over Aziraphale’s entire body, and all he could do was lie there and take it. Under Crowley’s weight, he could barely move.

Crowley’s hips started to work faster, with his head rolled back. He was chasing his own pleasure, rubbing off,  _ using _ Aziraphale for it. And it felt good, it felt great. His cock was leaving a mess in its wake, spreading precome over Aziraphale’s chest. All the while, Aziraphale was helpless. All he could do was fuck himself on the dildo, gasping, trying to hold himself together. With the  _ real _ Crowley right there, with his cock so desperately close, it just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the  _ same _ . He needed Crowley like he’d never needed him before. There were tears prickling at his eyes when Crowley finally came, shoved between his tits and shuddering.

“Angel,” Crowley gasped, “Oh, angel, it’s okay,” he said, leaning down to cup Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “What do you need? Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll take care of you.”

“I need you, Crowley—it’s not enough. I need  _ you; _ I need you to take me. You haven’t in so long, oh, please, Crowley.”

Crowley shushed him with a kiss on his forehead. He could still hear Aziraphale working the dildo in and out of himself, like a piston, seeking his own pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. He was so focused on Crowley being  _ there _ with him, he couldn’t think about anything else. Even if it meant he hadn’t come yet, when clear evidence of Crowley’s pleasure was splattered over his chest.

“And now—now you’ve come, and I—”

“Angel,” Crowley said, a bit firmer. A bit harsher. “Aziraphale, I can do  _ anything _ for you. If you need my cock, you’ll have it. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

Aziraphale gave a hasty nod, watching the slow move as Crowley settled down between his thighs again. In desperation to have him, Aziraphale started to pull the dildo free—but Crowley stopped him. He pushed the dildo flush against Aziraphale and pulled his hand away, kissing on Aziraphale’s knuckles for good measure. Then, because Crowley was ever so careful, there was more lube. He slicked his own prick in it, keeping a close eye on Aziraphale’s breath as he did.

“If you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?” Crowley said. Aziraphale nodded—he didn’t need to ask. He knew what was happening.

Crowley had pulled the dildo back just enough to make room for  _ him _ , the real deal. When he pressed his cockhead to Aziraphale’s hole, Aziraphale gasped. He clutched a pillow into his chest and spread his knees a little wider. Desperation painted over his face, in the flush of his skin. When Crowley pushed forward, there was no pain. Just the sweet stretch, the feeling of Crowley’s cock. Of Crowley. Inside him, pushing forward with the same slow, dedicated movement he’d used with the dildo. It was just the way he did it, so Aziraphale could feel  _ everything _ . Every inch, every little centimeter as Crowley filled him. And alongside the dildo, it was  _ nearly _ too much. By the time Aziraphale started to whimper, though, Crowley had his hips pressed flush against him, smirking.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Can you keep going?” Crowley had leaned down to ask this in a quiet whisper. When Aziraphale nodded, Crowley kissed him like a dying man and rocked his hips.

Every time he pressed close, the dildo came flush against Aziraphale, and he cried out for it. Crowley stayed slow, pointed, and every thrust was enough to make Aziraphale see stars. Crowley hadn’t even touched his prick, not since Aziraphale had so delicately asked away from it. It didn’t matter; Aziraphale would come without it. He would come from Crowley’s cock moving just so, slow and sure, against his walls. The dildo moved with him, and it was like Crowley had some kind of control over it. He only pressed a hand between them once, to keep the dildo in place as he picked up his speed. Short, shallow thrusts that shoved Aziraphale farther up the bed, jostled him in just the right way that, when his arms fell down and the pillow away, the fat of his stomach, his tits, bounced in time with Crowley’s thrusts. Crowley was wrecked for it, watching. Leaning down to suck one of Aziraphale’s nipples back into his mouth.

“Crowley—that’s—” Aziraphale’s back arched. He made desperate moves to fuck himself against Crowley, to meet every harsh roll of his hips.

“You can do it. Come for me, angel. I’m right here,” he soothed his hand through Aziraphale’s hair, keeping him steady. He fucked him in harder thrusts, slower, rolling their bodies together until Aziraphale was gasping, moaning loud, and rolling his hips up as he came. Crowley followed a second later, and Aziraphale was half convinced it’d been a miracle.

He didn’t care though, Aziraphale. He shuddered as the warmth filled him, and again as Crowley eased out. Then, the dildo. There would be time for a shower later, after Aziraphale was feeling up to moving. Until then, Crowley laid down beside him and kept a hand in his hair, stroking it back. It was always a calming thing, and Aziraphale enjoyed it. He hummed, quietly, and tilted his head to better see Crowley. Aziraphale may have looked fucked out, completely, but Crowley didn’t look much better. Even his face was red, and his eyes were still a vibrant yellow. Aziraphale reached for him, to touch his face.

“Welcome home, Crowley,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” he leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale’s nose. “I’m home. Do you think we should keep the dildo?”

Aziraphale nodded, quite the enthusiastic little one. Crowley didn’t need help with this, so to say. He was a snake, and Aziraphale knew a thing or two about snakes. Still, it was the thrill. Aziraphale could do this himself, and Crowley could come home to a treat. All new wonderfully devious things to try, and they had all the time in the world. Eventually, they would shower, Crowley would wash Aziraphale, and Aziraphale would go to sleep. And after, when Beelzebub called to check on the result of Crowley’s mission, he would whisper a gentle question if she needed anymore favors. He’d be willing to comply, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏  
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